


SFC Fic compilation

by fanperson



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Seasonal Fucking Cheer Ficathon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 05:39:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8736925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanperson/pseuds/fanperson
Summary: A place to keep my ficlets for the SFC ficathon.  Probably all Sherlock but who knows.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [msdisdain](https://archiveofourown.org/users/msdisdain/gifts).



John had assured him that he couldn’t be personally targeted during the “gift swap” at the yard’s holiday party. Apparently, he had even had the good fortune to draw the highest number, so he should be able to choose among any of the gifts. Contented, Sherlock leaned back in his chair and sipped the over-sweet red wine that they always served at these things. 

He watched as Molly opened a package containing a knitted hat with an attached beard that wrapped around the front of her face. She giggled and put it on, smiling as the others snapped pictures with their phones.

John leaned over to him and whispered, “She seems happy.” 

The whispering had been a little too close to Sherlock’s ear, making him shiver and clutch his wine. John glanced at him and took his nearly-empty glass, heading back over to the drinks table. John was always trying to ply him with alcohol at these things.

Sherlock scowled as he saw a woman hovering near John as he waited for their wine. 

She was chatting him up even though he was pointedly ignoring her, just nodding his head as she leaned closer and smiled at him.  
Sherlock saw her ask for a white wine and then follow John back to where they were sitting. 

The opening of the gifts continued and Sherlock stifled a yawn. He catalogued all the presents and found that there was nothing of any interest or value. The rest of the party had allowed Molly to keep the beard hat, either because no one wanted it or they were afraid to try and take it from her. Sally Donovan was glaring at another officer who was poised to take a rather nice bottle of wine from her. 

When John’s number was up he unwrapped a gingerbread house, smiled graciously, and returned to his seat to rest it on his lap.  
Sherlock leaned over and whispered rather loudly, “John, you should have changed it for the wine. What are we going to do with a house for biscuit people?”  
“It’s a house made out of biscuits, for biscuit people,” John said seriously, as though this settled the matter. At least the woman had moved away and begun scanning the room for someone else after hearing this exchange.

Sherlock stopped paying attention to the situation entirely until John kicked his leg with his foot and whispered, “It’s your turn.”

Sherlock sighed and got up, exchanging his number and looking at the package left on the table. The best idea would be to take the wine and be done with it but there was something intriguing about the remaining gift, it was rectangular and rather heavy when he picked it up. He peeled the paper off and took it back to the table, ignoring the rest of the room. It was some kind of weight. Sherlock started reading the box-- “engages the muscles through dynamic inertia” and “vibration plate technology.” Well that didn’t make any sense at all. He pulled the thing from the box and began examining it more closely, fitting it into the palm of his hand. He pumped it up and down, feeling the sensation of the movement as he picked up speed or slowed down.

He hadn’t been thinking about the rest of the room but when he looked up the first thing he saw was John’s face, which had become entirely blank as he clutched the gingerbread house. Sherlock gazed around the room. Most people seemed to be carefully avoiding looking at him at all. At the back, a few vaguely familiar male faces, obviously well past the point of polite drunkenness, were flushed red and smirking. One man started to whistle and shouted, “You’re a very lucky man, John! A very lucky man!” This statement was followed by laughter from his friends and titters from a few other people in the room. Sherlock was entirely confused as to what was going on until the man made a lewd gesture with his hands and licked his lips. 

John ground his teeth together and Sherlock could tell he was fighting for control and that he was losing the battle.  
“Maybe I am! Maybe I am a very lucky man!”

Everyone in the room, including the man who had made the comment, looked confused as John grabbed Sherlock’s hand and pulled him from the room. He grabbed their coats and pushed Sherlock out the door. 

They walked silently for a few minutes. John was obviously still calming down. Eventually, he put his hands in his pockets and spoke.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock.”

“Why? You didn’t do anything.”

“I shouldn’t have let that happen.”

Sherlock didn’t respond for about half a block.

“You were angry that that man implied that we were in a sexual relationship.”

“Not really that. I was angry that he was laughing at you.”

“Why do you care so much?”

“Because you’re not like them and they don’t have the right to talk about you like that.”

“John, I was pretty much miming masturbation in front of the entirety of Scotland yard.” Sherlock smiled.

“You did look very intent. You were concentrating quite hard.”  
John smiled back and Sherlock looked away, suddenly feeling slightly uncomfortable. They were silent for another block.

John coughed. “Well, I left the gingerbread house.”

“I have the weight in my coat.”

“Sherlock, you have to get rid of that. Or only use it in your bedroom.”

“I would think that, as a medical doctor, you would support exercise in any area of the flat.”

“Sherlock.”

“I’ll wait until the next time Mycroft comes over.”

Sherlock pulled the weight out from one of the many pockets of his coat and began shaking it, holding his arm away from his body at an angle. He was concentrating on the feeling when the weight was snatched from him and slammed into a nearby bin.

“Sorry.” John was dusting off his hands.

“You’ve had a trying day.” Sherlock shrugged.

“Sherlock, you know what?”

Sherlock peered over at him, unsure of what to say

“I am a very lucky man.”

Sherlock didn’t know what to make of that statement but suddenly felt quite happy. He was a man with hopes. A man with plans for the future. A man who was seriously considering fishing a shake weight out of a bin to used in what would surely be a very fucked up seduction.


End file.
